


Just Before the Christians Rang Their Bells

by MagnetoTheMagnificent



Series: Andalusia au [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1490s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Angst and Feels, Antisemitism, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Artist Crowley (Good Omens), Awkward Aziraphale (Good Omens), Awkward Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Boats and Ships, Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Costumes, Crowley Has a Cat (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Delirium, Depression, Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), Dolphins & Whales, Dreams, Eid ul-Fitr, Fights, Flirting, Fluff, Homophobia, Islamic References, Islamophobia, Jewish Crowley (Good Omens), Jewish references, Loneliness, Lonely Aziraphale (Good Omens), Lonely Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Love Poems, M/M, Melancholy, Missionaries, Muslim Aziraphale, Nicknames, Panic Attacks, Period Typical Attitudes, Pesach | Passover, Psychosis, Purim, Ramadan, Soldiers, Spanish Inquisition, Stubborn Crowley (Good Omens), Superstition, Tish'a B'Av | Ninth of Av Fast, Whales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28528047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent
Summary: Before the Spanish Inquisition, homosexuality was fairly tolerated and even praised in Islamic and Jewish Spain, known then as Al-Andalus. Jews and Muslims lived in relative tranquility, and were allies. In 1492, Grenada, the last Muslim stronghold in Spain fell, and the Spanish Inquisition expelled all the Jews and Muslims from Spain. We have yet to know the true scale of the lives and culture lost then.Antonio Carmeli (Crowley) and Israfil al-Malak (Aziraphale) are two lovers who live in these tumultuous times.(Title is from the poemMy Beloved Comesby Ibn Hazm)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Andalusia au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205270
Comments: 130
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Almeria, 1489, Christmas**

Antonio panted as he crept through the dark and wild streets of the main square. There were rumours that the emir would surrender to the Christians. His heart beat frantically against his chest as he finally reached his house’s gate. It was not good for a Jew to be out and about on Christmas, especially since the Christians had slowly made themselves the majority presence. In his panic, he didn’t notice the man in the shadows until he bumped into him.  
He blinked, and looked up. 

“What are you doing out in these hours, Antonio?” the man, Hernando, asked.

Hernando had been an acquaintance of his, back before the siege and radicalization. He had even seen him a few times in the bathhouse with Luis, although he wouldn’t dare mention it. 

“Little Najma ran over here to tell me that her mother has fallen ill, so I went to give her some remedies. I couldn’t send the girl off on her own, you know,” Antonio explained nervously. 

Hernando snorted. 

“You never could give up an opportunity for business,” he scoffed. 

“I did it for free,” Antonio replied, and attempted to push past the larger man to go inside. 

“Whoa, where you going so fast? Stay awhile,” Hernando protested, grabbing him by the arm. 

His grip was strong, and Antonio tried not to wince. 

“Please let go of me,” he said quietly, on the verge of pleading.

He could tell by now that Hernando was drunk. 

“Why so cold all of a sudden, little snake?” Hernando grinned. 

Antonio glared at him. That had been his nickname in _certain_ circles, circles he knew Hernando had once been a part of. 

“It’s late, Hernando,” Antonio said with a wavering voice. “Shouldn’t you be in Church?”

Hernando growled and shoved him against the wall. Antonio struggled to break free, but he had never been a strong man. 

“I _was_ in Church, Antonio,” Hernando sneered, “and you know what they said there?”

Antonio swallowed. He didn’t want to wait for an answer. 

“They said that soon enough, you Jews and Moors won’t be so comfy and arrogant. We’ll be back in power again, you filthy kike.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a gambler,” Antonio mumbled. 

He shouldn’t have said that. 

Hernando grabbed his face and slammed it against the bricks. Antonio tasted iron, and his vision clouded. 

“Hey, Hernando, what're you doing there?” Luis yelled from behind the gate.

“S’that Antonio?”

“Yeah, the little snake here thinks he’s better than us,” Hernando shouted back. 

Luis let out a whoop and climbed over the gate, and Hernando released his grip so that Antonio fell to the floor. He moaned as he saw the blurry outlines of Hernando and Luis standing over him. 

“Hard to believe this weakling’s a Jesus killer, eh?” Hernando smirked. 

“He’s a worm,” Luis nodded. 

Hernando let out a loud laugh.

“Want to go get a drink?” Luis asked when his laughter had died down. 

Hernando looked down at Antonio, who was trying to crawl towards the door. 

“Yeah, just a minute,” he said, and dug his heel into Antonio’s chest. 

**One Year Later**

Business had been slow since the reconquestition, and Antonio had had to take in borders to keep afloat. He mostly took in visiting merchants, but it was hard finding borders when he could only stay at the docks at dawn and sunset. Most ships came in at midday, but Hernando and Luis’s attack a year earlier had given him irreversible brain injury. Bright lights made him get headaches and nausea, and sometimes he’d even lose consciousness. Centuries later one might say he had gotten a concussion.  
Antonio squinted to look out onto the water. He yawned. There were no ships in sight, so he figured he’d have time to get in a quick nap before any came to moor. 

Israfil stepped off of his ship and looked around the pier. He liked getting an early start on things, and was glad that he made it to land before the chaos of the day. It gave him a chance to settle down first, before having to face the sounds and smells of the market. He headed towards the edge of the market, which was only waking up, with vendors tiredly setting up their stalls and squeezing in a quick breakfast. Usually innkeepers would stand there and wait for potential tenants, but seeing as it was so early, there was only one man leaning back on an old chair. A green cap was resting on his head, and the man was seemingly asleep. 

Israfil tapped his shoulder in an attempt to wake him. 

“Good morning,” he said, and the man stirred. 

The chair teetered and Israfil grabbed the man’s arm before he hit his head on the ground. The cap slipped off his face and the man looked up at Israfil in shock.

“That was a close one,” Israfil said awkwardly, helping the man to his feet.

“Yeah, um, thank you,” the man stammered, and Israfil got a chance to see his face.

He had dark hair and remarkably good cheekbones, and bright auburn eyes. Not everyone would call him handsome, but Israfil would. He was beautiful. 

“Are you an innkeeper?” Israfil finally managed to ask. 

The man nodded hesitantly. 

“I usually take in a border or two during the market season,” he explained. 

“Do you have a room to let?”

“Yes, um, yeah.”

Israfil held out his hand. 

“My name is Israfil al-Malak. Would you be able to let out a room for me?” he asked politely. 

The man shook it and Israfil noted that he had clean but rough hands, the hands of a farmer. Strange for a man in the city. 

“Um, I’m Antonio Carmeli. Yeah, uh, I can let out a room. Do you want to take a look at it first, or?”

Israfil smiled. 

“I’m sure it’s alright. As long as I have a bed to sleep on and a place to wash up, I’m happy,” he replied.

“Great, uh. I can also make breakfast, if that’s what you want,” Antonio added shyly.

“We should get a move on, though, Mister-

“Call me Israfil”

“We should get a move on, then, Israfil. Do you have any luggage?”

Israfil nodded towards the carpet bag he was holding. 

“Great.”

Antonio walked towards a donkey which was standing lazily by a trough of feed.

“This is Bilam,” he said, “she’s a bit of a brat but she can carry your bags.”

He took Israfil’s bag and fastened it to Bilam’s saddle. 

“Let’s go, Israfil.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So, this is your room,” Antonio said as he pulled open the heavy curtain on the doorway. 

The room was bare, but it looked comfortable. The bed was clean and made-up, and there was a small wooden table in the corner with a wash station. Compared to other places Israfil had had to stay at, it was luxurious. 

“The chamberpot is under the bed,” Antonio continued, waving his hand at the floor. 

“There’s a lavatory outside that I share with three other households, but obviously you can use the pot at night and empty it at your discretion. There used to be a bathhouse just a walk away, but, well, y’know, that’s closed now. If you want I have a tub that you could fill up, so it’ll have to do-”

Antonio paused, and looked around. He bit his lip, feeling embarrassed when he saw Israfil seem to have a blank expression. 

“Sorry, I was rambling, you’re probably tired-”

“It’s alright, you’re very informative,” Israfil assured him.

Antonio gave him a strange look and exhaled, relieved. 

“Well, that’s good,” he said, “I’ll, uh, leave you here, then. I have to go tend to my plants.”

He smiled again and rocked slightly on his feet, before awkwardly leaving the room. 

**Later that day**

Israfil closed the front door behind himself after returning from the market. He could hear Antonio singing to himself from his shop, which was just off the house. He remembered that he hadn’t asked Antonio what he sold in his shop. He slowly pushed open the door to the shop, expecting to see a craftsman’s workshop. Antonio seemed like the kind of man to be an artist.  
The first thing he noticed was the smell. As soon as he opened the door he was hit was the scent of life- of fresh plants and leaves and flowers. It was like Antonio had somehow fit a forest into a tiny room. Next, Israfil saw all the plants. He recognized a few herbs, some dried and hanging from the rafters, but there were other plants he didn’t recognize. Each plant was tagged and labeled meticulously, some with notes written on small pieces of paper or wood.  
As for Antonio, he was crouched by a plant, now having stopped singing and instead inspecting the soil. 

“Antonio?” said Israfil.

Antonio jumped, knocking over a pot of dirt. 

“Israfil!” he exclaimed, rushing to his feet. 

He brushed the soil off of his tunic and wiped his face. 

“What can I do for you?” he asked. 

“I was just curious about what you were doing,” Israfil chuckled, looking around. 

“You have quite the impressive collection.”

Antonio blushed. 

“Yeah, erm, well, I’ve been studying them for a while now. O-obviously not as my main source of income, you know, I also sell herbal remedies and the like,” he explained.

“What do you study specifically?” Israfil asked politely. 

Antonio blinked. It was rare someone showed a genuine interest in his research, especially since his sponsor gave up on him. 

“Well, I’ve been working mainly with trying to figure out how plants know- well obviously not “know” as in think, but what makes them bloom at certain times or tip to the sunlight…..” 

“Birds know when to migrate,” Israfil offered.

“Yeah, but they have brains. Even fish and insects have brains, but plants don’t, even though they behave quite intelligently,” Antonio replied. 

Israfil tapped his chin thoughtfully, stroking his short beard. 

“That’s a good point. I suppose I’ve never really thought about that.”

“The thing is,” Antonio continued, “I figure there must be a brain-like structure, but I haven’t the faintest idea where it must be.”

“It would have to be quite small,” the other man mused. 

“Yes,” Antonio nodded. 

He looked down at the mess on the floor. 

“I’m sorry, I should clean this up,” he said, kneeling again. 

“Let me help you,” Israfil offered. 

“Oh you don’t have to-” Antonio protested, but Israfil had already reached for the small broom.

“You’re a very intelligent man,” Israfil said quietly as he swept up the dirt into the dustpan Antonio held. 

Antonio looked down, his cheeks growing warm. 

“And you’re a very beautiful man,” he replied, and then immediately regretted saying it. 

Israfil gave him an odd look but didn’t comment. Antonio cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject.

“I’ll be making dinner soon,” he said. 

“I could make extra, if you want, I have a few sausages that have cured rather nicely.”

“That’s quite kind of you, Antonio, but I’m afraid I don’t eat pork,” Israfil said apologetically. 

“Oh, um, neither do I,” Antonio replied with a smile. 

“It’s goat.”

“Well, in that case, I wouldn’t mind having dinner with you, if it’s not too much of trouble, of course.”

“That was delicious, Antonio,” Israfil said after they had finished their small meal of bread, meat, and onion mince. 

He dropped a coin into his palm, and Antonio looked up at him quizzically. 

“You already paid me for the week,” Antonio reminded him, handing back the coin. 

“Yes, but I didn’t pay you for the meal,” he chuckled. 

“That’s- that’s not necessary, Israfil, I didn’t offer dinner because I wanted you to pay me. I was offering out of generosity, out of….not wanting to eat alone.”

“Is this your first time taking in borders?” Israfil asked lightly. 

“No!” Antonio said defensively.

Then, “second or third,” he mumbled. 

“I don’t intend to offend,” said Israfil, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“S’alright,” Antonio shrugged, slipping Israfil’s hand off of himself. 

“I don’t sleep much during the night,” he said, “so if you need anything chances are I’ll be awake.”

“Good night, then,” said Israfil. 

“Sleep well,” Antonio smiled, and watching the other man head to his room.


	3. Chapter 3

Antonio yawned and stretched, shifting in his chair. He must have fallen asleep while sketching his new draft of the myrtle plant’s inner circulatory system. 

“You don’t have a very regular sleep pattern,” someone, Israfil, remarked from across the room. 

Antonio felt his cheeks grow warm. 

“Didn’t realize you were here,” he mumbled bashfully. 

“Why don’t you sleep at night? Is it something to do with your experiments?” Israfil asked. 

Antonio looked down. 

“This is going to sound rather foolish, but, err, I don’t...react well to light,” he replied slowly. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, um, I get dizzy, headaches, sometimes I’ll faint…..like an aristocratic damsel,” he said ruefully.

He expected Israfil to laugh at his self-deprecating humour, but instead the other man looked serious. 

“That sounds terrible,” he said softly. 

“Have you had to deal with it your whole life?”

Antonio shook his head. 

“Just about a year now. Some old…. _friends_ got a little too excited about the reconquestition,” he explained with a grimace. 

Israfil gave him a knowing frown. 

“Anyway,” Antonio said, forcing a smile, “I cope alright.”

“What about you? How are you going to cope?” he asked slyly. 

“What do you mean?”

“You have Ramadan coming up, no? Are you planning to fast?” 

Israfil laughed at the question.

“I am, yes, to be honest I’m surprised you remembered.”

“I live in al-Andalus, Israfil, not England,” Antonio teased. 

“You mean Spain?” corrected Israfil

“Oh, poo! It won’t last long,” Antonio snorted. 

“Damn Castilians think they’re gonna rule the world…..not very likely considering they don’t dominate _any_ trade route.”

“You’d best be careful saying things like that,” Israfil warned quietly. 

“I have the protection of being a foreigner, but you, _eini_ , could be hanged for treason.”

“What was that you called me?” Antonio asked. 

Israfil froze, blood rushing to his face. 

“Well, look at the time,” he exclaimed loudly, glancing out the window. 

“Time for _Asr_ , hehe, see you later, Antonio.”

He rushed out of the house, and Antonio watched him jog to the direction opposite of the nearest mosque, pause, look very flustered, and turn to run the correct direction. Antonio smiled, although he wasn’t quite sure why. 

**Wednesday, August 4th**

“Lentils? You never eat lentils,” Israfil remarked as he peaked into the pot on the hearth. 

Antonio was sitting on the floor, looking a bit uncomfortable, but playing with the fabric on his tunic. 

“You want some?” Antonio offered, then looked thoroughly embarrassed. 

“Oh, sorry, are you still fasting?” 

“I won’t be after I eat,” Israfil grinned. 

It was just past sunset, and so the city was filled with the sound of a workday quieting down. Antonio lit the tall candle in the middle of his table, and poured lentil soup into Israfil’s bowl.

“Lentils are traditionally foods of mourning,” Antonio explained, “and tonight is _Tisha B’Av_.”

Israfil stilled. 

“I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s alright, Israfil. I feel bad for saying this, but it doesn’t affect me so emotionally. The Temple was destroyed thousands of years ago, and for me this is just an inconvenient day of fasting,” Antonio explained guiltily. 

“So why do you observe it?”

“Well, I mean, I guess, I want to feel that connection, you know?”

Israfil nodded solemnly, understanding that feeling of obligation. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked. 

“Oh no, I already ate. The fast started before sunset,” laughed Antonio. 

Israfil finished eating his soup and watched as Antonio sat pensively on the hard floor. 

“Are you going to the synagogue?” 

Antonio nodded. 

“Well, I’m going to the mosque tonight, as well,” said Israfil hopefully, “would you like to….walk together?”

Antonio rubbed his cheek self-consciously, where a prickly stubble had begun to grow after not having shaved for the past few weeks. He looked shyly at Israfil. 

“Err, yes,” he coughed, “yes, of course.”

A cool breeze blew in from the coast, and Antonio gave a little shiver as he and Israfil walked through the dark streets. 

“I guess we’ll both be fasting tomorrow,” he said, breaking the silence. 

“Mhmm, although you’ll be fasting for longer,” Israfil reminded him, with a touch of concern in his voice. 

“Israfil, you’re fasting for a whole month,” Antonio scoffed.

“True. Still,” Israfil murmured.

Antonio patted his arm and smiled at him.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured him. 

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Antonio broke away. 

“See you tonight,” he said quietly, and walked off towards the synagogue. 

**That morning (Tisha'a B'Av)**

Israfil ate _suhour_ quietly in the early-hours before dawn. Since Ramadan started, Antonio would join him, being a night-owl, and he wouldn’t eat alone. This time, however, Antonio was still asleep, and seeing as he was also fasting, Israfil felt bad waking him. He did miss him, though, even though he knew he was in the other room.  
By traditional standards, Israfil knew Antonio wasn’t remarkably irresistible. He wasn’t ugly, of course, but he was on the more skinnier side, leaning towards bony, and he wasn’t very tall, but….Israfil sighed. He was enamoured, and not just by the man’s outward appearance. He found himself dreaming about the creases Antonio’s face made when he laughed, of the slight lilt in his voice, and of course, of his eyes. On the surface, they looked like ordinary brown eyes, but Israfil knew that when the light of the moon hit them just so- they looked like they were made of gold. 

He took out his quill and began to write. 

Meanwhile, in the other room, Antonio was sleeping peacefully, dreaming of a charming man with a dark beard and a bright smile. The moon watched silently from above the small world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Tuesday, August 17th**

Israfil tiptoed past Antonio, who had fallen asleep at the table. It was early morning, even before dawn, and Israfil didn’t want to wake the other man. Antonio’s dark hair spilled over his face, and his slender arms were covering what looked like sketches. He knew Antonio could draw- he drew intricate diagrams of his plants’ anatomy all the time, but these sketches looked more human. From afar he could see a face, and he wondered who it was. 

“G’morning,” came Antonio’s drowsy voice, rousing Israfil’s from his quiet contemplation. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I woke you, Antonio,” Israfil tried saying, but Antonio held up his hand and waved him away. 

“Last day of Ramadan, right?” he asked. 

Israfil nodded and smiled, but a sadness crossed his face.

“What’s wrong?” Antonio asked.

“Tomorrow's a day of celebration.”

“Well,” coughed Israfil. 

“I certainly will be glad to feast and celebrate tomorrow, but I’ll also be leaving port the next day,” he told him, pursing his lips. 

Antonio looked down, but then gave Israfil a quick smile. 

“Well, that’s exciting. New places to see?” he said with forced joy.

“Just the old trade routes.”

“Right.”

“I’ll be back, of course, next season, hopefully,” Israfil added. 

“Right.” 

Antonio fiddled with his sleeve, and his eyes scanned the parchment on the table. He blushed furiously and snatched the scrolls, refusing to look at Israfil. 

“I’d better, uh, check on the plants,” he mumbled.

“Help yourself to some food before sunrise.”

He scurried away to the plant room, already feeling the first tears begin to fall. 

Antonio sank down to his knees against the hard wall of the plant room. It was too close to sunrise for the moon to provide any light, but the sun hadn’t yet risen enough to light up the sky. It was eerily dark, and silent. He could hear Israfil in the kitchen, and felt bad for not joining him. But he couldn’t bear to see his face. Not when he burned too much from shame to even look at him.   
It wasn’t the fact that they were both men. He had never been overtly religious, at least not to the extent that the scripture distressed him. No, what plagued him was the fact that Israfil could never reciprocate. At least not to the extent Antonio desired. He was a romantic, to a fault, and, he felt, became too emotionally invested too early. Contrary to the expectation of the wandering Jew, Antonio was a settler. He didn’t like to move, and he liked going home to the same place every day. Israfil, on the other hand, was a merchant. He likely wouldn’t want to keep up with Antonio’s relatively boring lifestyle- he travelled the world, while Antonio was content to stay onshore.   
Antonio looked down at the drawings in his hands. He must have zoned out and drawn Israfil’s profile, instead of sketching a proposed nervous system for a plant. It wasn’t the best sketch, but it was recognizable, and it made Antonio feel a lump in his throat. He wiped his eyes, dusted himself off, and folded the sketches neatly in his hands. 

He walked back in the kitchen. Israfil had already left for the day, and somehow Antonio didn’t feel relieved. The fire crackled in the hearth, and Antonio approached it tentatively. He held the sketches over the fire, and squeezed his eyes shut. His hand was close enough for him to feel the heat of the flames, but he couldn’t bring himself to burn the sketches.   
Composing himself, he pulled the sketches back to his chest, and walked to his room. He placed the sketches on his nightstand, and flopped onto his bed. He had enough time for a short nap before having to open his herbal shop for the day. 

**The next day (Eid al-Fitr)**

Israfil returned to Antonio’s house earlier than usual, still high on the Eid al-Fitr celebrations. It was more subdued than previous years he spent in Spain before the reconquesition, but it was still meaningful and joyful. Antonio was in the shop, he could tell, and Israfil was glad because he needed some time to think. Over the few months he had come to know Antonio, he found himself more drawn to the man. It could never work, he was a logical enough man to know that. Trading and business was a constant game of gains versus losses, and figuring out how to predict them. A part of him yearned to tell Antonio how he felt, and especially for Antonio to feel the same way, but he was also all too aware of the consequences. If Antonio reciprocated, he’d be leaving a man who cared for him, and perhaps never see him again. If Antonio didn’t reciprocate, he’d be heartbroken. A part of him dreaded Antonio’s affection more than rejection. He couldn’t bear the guilt of leaving him behind. 

“Eid Mubarak,” Antonio said quietly, entering the room. 

Israfil shook himself out of his melancholy, and gave Antonio a warm smile. 

“Hello, Antonio,” he said.

“Do you, uh, need help packing?” Antonio asked. 

Israfil blanked for a moment and then cleared his throat. 

“Um, yes. Packing. For tomorrow,” he stammered. 

Antonio followed him to his room, where they stood awkwardly in the small space.

“I don’t have many things,” Israfil began, but Antonio was standing, frozen, by his desk. 

His head was bowed, seemingly reading something. Alarm bells rang in Israfil’s head as he registered what Antonio had seen. 

Antonio slowly looked up, a look of astonishment painted on his now paler face. 

“I- I don’t think I was supposed to see that,” he finally said. 

“It’s all true, you know,” Israfil said softly. 

“There must be another man named An-”

“Don’t be daft,” he interrupted. 

“I write poems from my heart, Antonio. And if- if that embarrasses you, from tomorrow you’ll never see me again and you and I can forget we ever met.”

Antonio looked up at him, his deep brown eyes full of anguish. 

“I don’t….I don’t want to forget...I ever...met you,” he said sadly. 

“What do you mean?”

Antonio bit his lip. 

“Whatever you feel, Israfil…..I feel the same way.”

Israfil took a step forward to the other man and took his trembling hand in his. 

“You know this is bound to end in heartbreak,” he said mournfully. 

“But I have hope,” Antonio replied. 

“To a fault,” finished Israfil. 

Antonio moved closer and leaned on him. 

“Come back to me,” he pleaded against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to update, I had oral surgery two weeks ago and then had my birthday and had a lot of work and stress to deal with. Enjoy these two lovebirds finally vocalizing their feelings XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Monday, December 15th**

_“Antonio,” a deep yet soft voice whispered.  
Antonio’s eyelids fluttered open, and he smiled hazily. Like an angel, Israfil was standing by his bed, looking ethereal as ever. His curls spilled out from under his turban, framing his brown face like a halo. His dark eyes were fixed on Antonio, who flushed under the attention.   
“I missed you,” he said, sitting next to him.   
He put a smooth hand on Antonio’s thigh. Antonio placed his hand on his. It was warm.   
The other man leaned closer, and cupped his cheek. He was close enough that Antonio could smell his light and sweet perfume. He breathed deeply, steadying his nerves and inhaling his lover’s scent, and held out his chin, inviting him. Israfil moved even closer, their lips about to meet. Antonio moved to close the gap, desperate to feel Israfil’s soft plump lips on his. _

Antonio shivered. He had fallen asleep at the table again, and the fire had gone out. His dream began to fade into the recesses of his memory. He and Israfil had hardly touched in such a way, yet his dreams betrayed him. He knew he didn’t just want to kiss him, he wanted to dance with him, lean on him, listen to his stories about the places he’d been to. He wanted to feel his warmth, to feel cared about and to care about him. He didn’t want to be alone.   
Loneliness set in. It was Winter, and Antonio feld colder than ever. He draped his mantle around himself and picked up the firewood basket. Outside, it was even colder.   
He groggily fumbled with the woodpile, selecting some good logs. His head pounded painfully, as it often did in colder weather. He was about to go back inside when he heard a high mewl, like a baby, coming from his shop. Antonio hoped it wasn’t a jackal.   
Tentatively, he took his fire poker from next to the hearth and cautiously entered his shop. He didn’t know how to deal with wild animals, but he hoped he could scare it off. His plants that hadn’t withered swayed in the chilly breeze, but strangely, the shop appeared empty. Had he imagined the sound?  
Then, he was alerted to a scratching sound coming from his seed bins, and he groaned. He did not have the energy nor the means to deal will rats. Antonio scanned the bins for the telltale creatures, but he could see no droppings or wormlike tails. The mewling was louder now, and Antonio scrambled to find its source. He set the bins aside, closing in on the siren. 

A pair of yellow eyes stared back at him, and Antonio sighed in relief. It wasn’t a jackal or a rat. It was a kitten. 

“Hello little one,” he said softly, scooping up the tiny creature.   
The kitten yowled and clawed at him, but Antonio resisted. He could see how cold and emaciated it was, and he held it to his chest. It was dirty, and its fur was matted, but Antonio could tell it would look a lot better once it was cleaned up. 

“Let’s get you warmed up, right?” he whispered, and headed into the house. 

He took off his mantle and set it on the floor as a makeshift bed. The kitten dug into the fabric, but didn’t run off. 

“Hungry?”

Antonio placed a bowl of water by the kitten, and a plate of sausage scraps. The kitten regarded him with suspicion, but, overcome with her hunger, took a discerning nibble of the meat. Once she was eating and drinking, Antonio began to work on the fire. Soon, there were hot flames dancing in the hearth, and Antonio sat next to the kitten.   
The kitten had finished eating, and was resting on the cloth. Antonio pet her gently on her back. She glared at him, but didn’t pull away. 

“What’s a baby like you doing all alone?” Antonio asked. 

“Abandoned by your litter, or a runaway?”

He chuckled to himself. 

“Yeah, I suppose you look more like a runaway, rebel kitten. Most cats don’t eat seeds.”

The kitten began to knead the cloth, and to Antonio's delight, began to try to groom herself. 

“You know you can’t stay here for free, cat. I require some sort of payment,” Antonio told her. 

“Tell you what,” he decided. 

“You keep my place safe from rats and mice, and I let you stay.”

She began to purr. 

“S’that a yes, then?”

“Well, you’re going to need a name in order to make the transaction legal.”

She meowed. 

“M’afraid it’s going to have to be a human name. Just for legal purposes, you know,” he added. 

He thought for a moment. 

“How about Seraph, the screeching angels of the highest sphere?”

Another meow. 

“Yep. It suits you.”

He handed her another scrap of meat. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Seraph.”

**Wednesday, December 17th**

Israfil stared mournfully into his drink. He wasn’t one to get drunk, but especially in his solitude, he needed something to warm his soul.   
It was just his luck that he had fallen for a Spaniard. He didn’t hate his job, he quite enjoyed meeting new people and cultures, but now he had reason to feel melancholic. Many sailors and merchants fell for exotic women, and often without consent took the women with them. Not Israfil. Antonio was more than just an object of desire, although he certainly did have carnal appeal. No, Israfil missed their long discussions about philosophy and nature, how passionate Antonio became when talking about his research in plants. He would be so full of life in a land whose life was slowly being leached away.

How lively Antonio would become, gesticulating wildly, his dark hair whipping around his sharp face. Israfil could listen to him for days, invigorated by his energy alone. He was counting the days until he could return. Until then, the best he could do was pen his sorrows.   
He glanced at his calendar. If he was correct, Antonio would be kindling the first or second candles of his Chanukiah. Then again, he wasn’t sure if Antonio celebrated that holiday. He hoped at least that the candles provided some warmth to his beloved.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for brief mention of a dead mouse (there's a cat, after all)

**Sunday, March 5th (Purim)**

Antonio always liked Purim. He wasn’t strictly observant of all the minor holidays, but Purim was different. He could go to synagogue, and no one would recognize him. There had always been a tradition of disguising oneself in simple or elaborate costumes, especially of biblical characters. Despite his secular appearance, Antonio was actually quite well-versed in the Bible. As a scholar he made a point to study all religious texts, especially those of his own religion. 

“And what are you dressed as?” a man dressed as Queen Esther asked in a drunken slur. 

Antonio had made himself a fancy mask, and was draped in a long cape with sewed-on scales of fabric and metal shards. He was quite proud of his costume. 

“The Serpent of Eden,” he replied, swaying his cape to show off the intricate details. 

“Ah, a villain,” laughed the man. 

“Some might say,” muttered Antonio. 

Personally, he never thought of the Serpent as a villain. An instigator, maybe, but how boring would life be if the humans had never left the garden?

After the party, Antonio walked home. He felt quite regal in his shimmering cape. A soldier gave him a look of disgust as he passed, but, slightly buzzed on alcohol, Antonio didn’t care. He almost never walked out in broad daylight, for fear of the sun’s painful glare, but his cape had a broad hood that allowed him some much needed shelter from the light. 

Seraph rubbed against his legs when he walked into the house. 

“What is it, baby girl?” Antonio asked fondly as she meowed loudly at his feet. 

Seraph led him to the kitchen, where she had deposited a freshly killed mouse. She looked up at her master proudly, and Antonio chuckled. 

“I ought to teach you to dispose of them in the compost, too,” he teased, as he gingerly picked up the corpse by its tail.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll give you a treat,” Antonio told the whining cat as she trailed him outside to the trash pile. 

Seraph had grown into a handsome young cat, and Antonio doted on her. Officially she was a working cat, but most of her time was spent being pet on Antonio’s lap, or curled up in his bed. 

“Good girl,” Antonio praised her, placing a piece of sausage in her food bowl. 

Seraph purred gratefully against his hand. 

There was a knock at the door, and Antonio froze. He was still wearing his makeup and costume, and was in no state to greet customers. With his dark eyeliner and gaudy cape, they’d think he owned a brothel. 

“Uh, just a moment!” he called out frantically, picking up the water bucket to wash up. 

“Antonio, it’s me.”

The water bucket clattered to the floor as Antonio nearly tripped over his cape. He clambered to the door and swung it open, his heart beating wildly in his chest. 

“Israfil!” he cried excitedly, and the other man pulled him into a tight embrace. 

“I missed you so much,” they both babbled as they made their way inside. 

When they finally pulled apart, Israfil gazed for a long moment at Antonio. 

“You look-” he began, and Antonio reddened, hurrying to explain.

“I know, I look ridiculous, it’s a costume-”

“You look incredible.”

“What?”

Israfil ran his fingers along Antonio’s cape. 

“You made this yourself?” he asked. 

“I- um, yes?”

“Antonio, you look like a king. You look beautiful,” he murmured. 

Antonio looked up at him. His hair was longer, and so was his beard. The thought of running his fingers through his thick curls echoed in his mind. 

“So do you,” he replied. 

Israfil pressed his forehead against Antonio’s. 

“I’d like to kiss you, Antonio,” he whispered. 

Antonio pulled him close, his cape jingling as he did so. 

“Go ahead,” he teased. 

Israfil gave him a peck on his lips, and Antonio gave him an unimpressed look. 

"That's it?"

“Your makeup looks amazing,” Israfil added, “but I’d like to mess it up.”

“Better get on with it, then.”

Later, in his bed, Antonio cuddled contentedly against Israfil.

“You came back early,” he remarked lazily, playing with Israfil’s beard. 

“Took the first chance I could, _eini,_ ” Israfil told him softly. 

“Thought you might have forgotten about me,” Antonio admitted. 

“Never,” said Israfil seriously. 

“Talk to me,” Antonio murmured against Israfil’s bare chest. 

“What was your trip like?”

“Well, it was fairly standard- oh!” he exclaimed, jumping out of the bed. 

In his hurry he stepped on Seraph’s tail, who was snoozing on the floor, indignant that she was not allowed on the bed. Seraph yowled and hissed at Israfil, and Antonio laughed. 

“Who’s that?” Israfil asked as Seraph ran off in a huff. 

“That’s Seraph, my cat. Found her in the cold a few months ago,” Antonio explained between giggles. 

“I suppose I’ve made a bad impression, then,” Israfil mused. 

“Nah, she’ll get over it,” Antonio assured him. 

“So, what is it?”

“I got you a sort of gift,” Israfil answered as he rummaged through his bag. 

He pulled out a pair of metal spectacles with dark lenses and showed them to Antonio. 

“What are those?”

“They’re like spectacles,” Israfil explained, “except instead of improving vision, they keep the sun out of the eyes.”

Antonio gaped at him, and Israfil was unsure of his reaction. 

“I thought they might be useful for your, uh, condition,” he mumbled, with less confidence. 

Antonio took the spectacles from his hand and put them on his face. He blinked, testing his vision through the darkened glass. 

“Israfil, they’re perfect,” he said in awe. 

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m just….so touched that you thought of me.”

“I saw a vender selling them, apparently they’re used in Chinese courts, and I thought, “maybe these could help Antonio.””

“Israfil, you’re like an angel,” Antonio told him, pulling him back onto his bed. 

“Isn’t Israfil an angel, anyway?” he added with a smirk.

“Uh, yes,” replied Israfil. 

“ _Angelito_ ,” Antonio cooed flirtingly. 

“Ha!” Israfil snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s a term of endearment,” Antonio insisted.

“For children, maybe,” Israfil scoffed, looking down at him, 

“ _Angelitoooo_ ,” Antonio sang gleefully from underneath him, his brown eyes glimmering with amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my Hebrew birthday today, and so I thought I'd give all of you a gift by updating XD


	7. Chapter 7

**Thursday, April 7th**

“Antonio, _eini_ , you know I need to sleep,” Israfil said gently. 

Antonio’s lithe arms were wrapped around him like a constrictor, and he let out a mumble of protest. 

“Don’t want to waste a moment with you,” he said, squeezing him harder. 

He buried his head in the crook of Israfil’s soft neck, content with the sensation of Israfil’s beard tickling his face.   
Israfil sighed sadly, and caressed Antonio’s scalp. 

“Neither do I,” he admitted. 

He paused, getting an idea. 

“Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested. 

Antonio looked up, and blinked in surprise. 

“Tomorrow?”

“No, of course not, you’d need time to prepare, but when I return,” Israfil clarified, now sitting up in their bed. 

Antonio sat up, too, and began to shake his head in distress. 

“I can’t….leave, Israfil,” he said fervently. 

“That’s….that’s not possible. I have Bilam, and Seraph, and my plants, and-”

“You can bring them with you. You can continue your research in Turkey, eini, I know scholars who would love to sponsor you.” 

His tone turned somber. 

“Antonio, you know things are getting dangerous here for you-”

Antonio climbed off of the bed and stood up, trembling. 

“I’m not leaving my home, Israfil. I’m sorry,” he said firmly, beginning to choke up. 

He turned away, not wanting Israfil to see his tears. Israfil walked up to him and tentatively touched his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry for bringing this up,” he said earnestly.

Antonio turned to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just sensitive-” he began to say. 

“Don’t apologize, Antonio. I shouldn’t have made such a bold proposition. I don’t want to ruin our last night together.”

The other man sniffed, and gave him a brave smile. 

“Neither do I, Israfil,” he said, and kissed his chest. 

Israfil pressed his face intp Antonio’s hair, inhaling his familiar scent of rosemary and iris. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. If he had a choice, he’d never leave. 

He took a step back, and began to remove his salvar.

“I have an idea,” he said.

Antonio looked at him in confusion as he stripped himself bare. What did _that_ have to do with anything?

“I know you can draw, Antonio. Why don’t you draw a portrait of me, so that you can see me whenever you want?” 

He sat himself on the bed, and crossed his legs primly over each other. 

Antonio blushed at seeing Israfil so nonchalant about posing nude on their bed. 

“I mainly draw plants, Israfil, n-not that I object to, uh, seeing you, err-”

He looked away, suddenly feeling very warm.

Israfil looked unimpressed. 

“What’s the issue, it’s not like we haven’t-”

“Yes, but I’ve never properly drawn you before,” Antonio explained in embarrassment.

“You’ve doodled, I’ve seen them,” Israfil pointed out with a smirk. 

Antonio rolled his eyes. 

“Fine, but don’t be insulted if I mess up,” he said. 

Antonio became more relaxed as his drawing progressed, and he and Israfil were soon engaged in light debate. 

“It’s not possible, Israfil. The weight would be too much-”

“Bees are too heavy to fly, yet somehow they do it,” Israfil argued. 

“But _humans_? What would we even do if we could fly?!” Antonio laughed. 

“Well-”

“Ah! Don’t move”

“Well, we could reach the moon, for example,” Israfil suggested. 

“Ridiculous,” Antonio muttered, shaking his head in amusement.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to stand on the moon?”

“I said don’t move!”  
“Sorry”

Antonio smiled at Israfil, and continued. 

“I like being on Earth. What does the moon have that we don’t have on the ground?” he asked. 

Israfil thought for a moment. 

“Well, we can’t know for sure until we see for ourselves, eh?” he replied finally. 

“I’ve always wanted to reach the bottom of the sea,” Antonio said as he sketched Israfil’s curls. 

Israfil considered this, and shuddered. 

“Oh no, that’d be dangerous,” he said. 

“Yeah, but surely you’ve wondered what terrific creatures live down there?”

“Not me. Better not think about it, being a seaman,” Israfil replied grimly. 

“You ever seen a whale?” Antonio asked. 

“Mhmhm. I admit they’re magnificent beasts,” nodded Israfil. 

“I’ve always wanted to see a whale.”

“Have you seen dolphins?”

“Oh yeah,” said Antonio, “saw a whole pod of ‘em once close to shore. You’d swear they speak some sort of language.”

“They do seem quite intelligent,” Israfil agreed. 

“Wonder what they talk about.”

“Fish?” teased Israfil. 

“World domination,” suggested Antonio with a wicked grin. 

“I doubt they’re that intelligent,” Israfil chuckled.

“What did I tell you about moving?!”

Israfil laughed, and resumed his pose. 

“Anyway, maybe the dolphins just want you to believe they aren’t intelligent enough to conquer the world.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Antonio grinned, and continued drawing. 

**The next day**

“And you’ll be back, you promise?” asked Antonio that morning as unloaded Israfil’s personal luggage from Bilam’s back. 

“I promise, Antonio,” Israfil told him, rubbing his back soothingly. 

Bilam snorted and shifted her weight, and Antonio patted her hide. She could sense his stress. He handed Israfil his bags, pausing when their hands touched. 

“We’re ready,” a crewman told Israfil, who sighed. 

He pulled Antonio into an embrace, and Antonio stiffened. 

“There’s people around,” Antonio said tensely through gritted teeth. 

“They’re Turkish, _eini_ , they don’t care,” Israfil assured him. 

He kneeled to kiss his forehead, and Antonio rubbed the fabric of his vest. He wished time could stop, just for them, just so they could savour their moment forever.   
They finally pulled apart, and Antonio reached into his pocket on his belt and pulled out a bundle of dried herbs. 

“So you can feel like I’m with you,” he said, pressing the bundle into Israfil’s palm. 

Israfil held it to his chest, bowing his head gratefully. 

Antonio slowly led Bilam down the gangplank, and stood on the dock as it was raised. Israfil’s ship soon launched off, and Antonio watched as it drifted away. Soon, it was just a pinprick on the horizon, and Antonio took a deep breath. 

“I love you!” he shouted out to the water. 

He didn’t care who heard.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sunday, May 1st**

“Señora,” Antonio said politely as a dignified looking woman entered his shop. 

She was tall, and though she was old, she didn’t look feeble at all. Her hair was unbraided, but not wild, and she carried herself with an air of dignity and wisdom. 

“How can I help you?” he asked, wiping his hands on his apron. 

The woman smiled at him, as if she could see through his soul. Antonio didn’t like feeling so known. It made him feel vulnerable. 

“I hear you sell herbs,” she said.

Antonio nodded, and snapped back to his professional demeanor and voice. 

“Mostly for medicinal uses, but I have some that can be used for cooking,” he replied. 

“How about witchcraft?” asked the woman, with a twinkle in her eye.

Antonio laughed, but then sobered when the woman didn’t seem to be joking. 

“You’re- you’re serious? Do you want to get arrested?” he hissed, looking around as if someone was listening. 

“Says the frog to the toad,” the woman shot back, grinning to show neat and clean teeth. 

Antonio took a step back and narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said quietly. 

The woman pointed a steady finger at him, smiling cryptically. 

“I’m not the only one who should worry about offending the Church,” she said.

Antonio’s eyes widened. 

“I-” he began to say. 

“Grandmama, there you are!” exclaimed a young woman as she rushed into the shop. 

“Anna,” said the old woman. 

“I am so sorry about my grandmother,” the young woman apologized. 

She was wearing a nun’s habit, and looked out of breath. 

“It’s..it’s alright,” stammered Antonio. 

“My grandmother likes to wander off. I hope she didn’t say anything to alarm you,” continued the young nun. 

“She said she’s a witch,” whispered Antonio uneasily, to which the nun paled. 

“Oh did she?” chuckled the nun, dark green eyes darting around the shop. 

“You know how some people get in their old age. They say the most ridiculous things!”

“Yes,” Antonio said slowly. 

“Witchcraft is illegal, of course. I wouldn’t have my own grandmother practice it,” Anna explained in her best attempt to be convincing.

“Lesbianism is also illegal,” Antonio heard the old woman mutter to her granddaughter. 

Anna blushed, and glared at her grandmother. The old woman smirked. Antonio locked eyes with the nun, and shared a look of solidarity. 

“Come along, grandmama,” she said curtly. 

“It’s time to go home. I’m sure we’ve annoyed this nice man enough.” 

“Don’t ignore the signs around you, Antonio,” the old woman called out behind her as Anna led her out of the shop. 

“Tragedy is sure to come over the horizon.”

Antonio stilled, processing the woman’s chilling words. He knew how dangerous his mere existence was. It was getting worse every day, he wasn’t under any delusions about the state of his home. But he was hopeful- a part of him thought things couldn’t possibly get worse. He had faith in the goodness and sanity of humanity. Someone might call him stupid. He knew Israfil would call him stubborn. Maybe he was, but if he thought about it too much, he’d never leave his house. 

“Just a crazy old woman,” he muttered, trying to reassure himself. 

He wasn’t superstitious, at least he told himself he wasn’t. But the woman’s words echoed in his ears. 

“ _Bli Ayin Hara_ ,” he added quickly. 

He retreated into his bedroom, and knelt by his old trunk. He flunk it open, taking a deep breath as he took in the sight of its contents. Antonio hadn’t opened the trunk in ages. He moved his mother’s candlesticks aside, and picked up his father’s neatly folded tallit. There, at the bottom of the trunk, was his family’s _hamsa_.   
He touched the blue eye in the center and felt the smooth outline of the fingers. The scholar held the _hamsa_ to his chest, and forced himself not to cry. He remembered seeing the _hamsa_ hanging over his family’s table as a child. 

“ _HaMalach HaGoel Oti..._ ” he began to sing to himself, cradling the talisman in his hands. 

_  
Israfil breathed slowly. Antonio was lying next to him, gazing adoringly._

_“You’re like a sculpture,” he murmured, sweeping his coarse fingers over his chest._

_“A sculpture?”_

_“Sculpted by the gods.”_

_“We don’t believe in many gods,” Israfil reminded him with a smile._

_“I’m being poetic!” Antonio protested._

_Israfil rolled over to kiss Antonio’s cheek._

_“I know, eini. I was only teasing,” he said._

_Antonio caressed his long curls, pressed against him._

_“I wish we could stay like this,” he sighed._

_“We can,” croaked Israfil, reaching out to his lover._

_“We can’t,” Antonio replied, and suddenly he was being dragged away._

_“Antonio!” shouted Israfil, but Antonio fell._

_A deep chasm opened beneath them, as the ground began to quake and shudder. He tried to grab Antonio, but he tumbled down the chasm, swallowed by the darkness.  
_

Israfil was awoken by a knock on his cabin door. He was panting heavily, and he clutched his blanket desperately. His small cabin seemed even smaller in the darkness, and the walls seemed to close in on him. He shivered. 

“al-Malak?” he heard a crewman’s voice say from behind the door. 

He groaned, and rolled out of his hard cot. Throwing on a robe, he opened the door. 

“What is it?” he asked blearily. 

“There seems to be a storm gathering ahead, but Yusuf thinks he can steer us on a course around it,” the crewman reported. 

“Yeah, so why aren’t we on it?” replied Israfil with annoyance. 

“Well, we’d miss the storm, but we’d be about a week behind on our estimated arrival. It could affect your busin-”

“Drowning could also affect my business,” Israfil snapped. 

“The safest course is the best course.”

“Right, of course,” said the crewman. 

“I’ll let you get back to your sleep.”

Israfil thought back to his dream and shook his head. 

“No, I might as well get on with the day, seeing as I’m awake,” he said with a yawn. 

“Any coffee brewed?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Monday, June 6th**

**Oran**

“When do you suppose we’ll be able to get out of here?” Israfil asked his ship’s captain, Yusuf.

“Probably in a week. We need to restock, remember,” Yusuf replied. 

Israfil groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“What’s the matter, Israfil? It could be worse,” Yusuf reminded him.   
“We avoided the storm, we’re all healthy, and we’re in Oran, so you might as well enjoy your stay.”

“I suppose,” muttered Israfil gloomily. 

“Anxious to get back to your boy in Almeria?” teased Yusuf, poking his arm playfully. 

“He’s not a _boy_ , Yusuf, he’s a man,” Israfil said tersely, “and he’s not just any man, at that.”

“Yeah? What’s so special about him? He seemed pretty agitated when we last left,” mused Yusuf, stirring his tea. 

“He’s brilliant, incredible. And he’s kind, and he makes me laugh,” Israfil answered dreamily. 

Yusuf chuckled. 

“I’m telling you, _habibi_ , if he was a woman, I’d have asked for his hand already,” said Israfil seriously. 

“Why don’t you?” 

“Are you joking?!”

“Well, not _marry_ him, of course,” laughed Yusuf, “I meant, why don’t you ask him to come home with you? You’d think someone like him would jump at the chance to get out of there.”

“I did,” Israfil said quietly.  
“He doesn’t want to leave his home.”

“Oh.”

Israfil sighed sadly. 

“I don’t want to press him more, Yusuf, I respect him too much for that,” he added earnestly. 

“Even if it saves his life?” Yusuf wondered. 

Israfil looked down and bit his lip. He didn’t know the answer. 

**Almeria**

It was getting late. Antonio paced manically at the docks, garnering stares from passerby, soldiers, and merchants. He had been waiting for hours, and it was already his second day at the pier. Ships came in, and ships launched, but no sign of Israfil’s ship. Every time he saw a ship that might be his, or a man that from the distance could have been his beloved, he was due for disappointment.   
His head hurt, but the pain was already a background noise to his all-consuming anxiety. He kept thinking of the old woman’s ominous prediction. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he repeated to himself, but he scarcely believed it. 

“Sir?” a soldier asked with rehearsed concern. 

“Ngh?” 

“Is everything alright?” 

Antonio nodded vaguely, too distracted to be fearful. 

“Have you had too much to drink?” the soldier pressed.

“Nhhh, I don- I don’t drink,” slurred Antonio, clutching his forehead. 

He looked up at the soldier, who seemed to be glowing with a hazy, shimmering light. Antonio reached out to him, and the soldier grabbed his wrist forcibly. 

“Are you mad?!” he sputtered angrily.

Antonio just looked at him with a dazed expression. 

“What are you, some kind of idiot?!” growled the soldier, his volume attracting a crowd of onlookers.

“Huh,” 

“What’s your name, boy?” the soldier demanded, yanking him by the arm. 

Antonio, disoriented, opened his mouth to reply, but a man pushed through the crowds towards them. 

“Phillippe!” the man exclaimed, grabbing him by the hand. 

“There you are, my brother. Let’s get you inside,” he said, pulling Antonio away. 

“Is he your brother?” asked the soldier. 

The man nodded, giving Antonio a friendly pat on the back. 

“Poor man has quite the fever. He’s been delirious for days, he must have wandered off,” he explained with a nervous smile. 

“Well, take better care of him, then,” snapped the soldier with a sneer. 

He released his grip on Antonio, and wiped his hands derisively, as if he had touched something filthy. 

“I will,” the man replied, and steered Antonio away from the soldier and the pier. 

“I don’t know you,” protested Antonio weakly as the men led him through the streets. 

“Pretend you do, and keep quiet,” said the man.   
“I’m saving your life.”

They finally reached a large building, and the man ushered Antonio inside. It was dark and cool inside, and Antonio felt some relief from his aching head. 

“Drink,” said the man, forcing a bowl of soup into Antonio’s hands. 

Antonio sipped the hot soup, too tired to question. 

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, now looking down into the empty bowl. 

“It’s no trouble, my child,” the man assured him. 

“Who are you?” asked Antonio, now coming back to his senses. 

“I am Brother Francesco,” said the man sweetly, and Antonio looked around, realizing where he was. 

He was in a monastery, and though Francesco seemed kind enough, Antonio felt a knot tighten in his stomach. A monastery was no place for a man like him. 

“You were in quite the state,” Francesco remarked, “you’re lucky I got to you before you were hauled away to prison.”

“Why did you help me? You don’t know me,” Antonio asked with suspicion. 

“Oh, my child, I know a lost soul when I see one,” answered Francesco. 

“I’m not lost,” Antonio told him, now fully aware of his surroundings. 

The monk looked dubious.

“Have you a family?” he asked. 

“I have myself,” lied Antonio. 

He wasn’t an idiot. There was only one person he considered his family, and he wasn’t about to tell some monk about him. 

“You’re never alone in the eyes of God,” Francesco said self-righteously. 

“Believe me, I don’t have any issues with my faith,” Antonio said dryly. 

“So you’re a Jew.”

“And if I am?”

“You can still be saved, you know. It’s never too late.”

“I don’t need saving. I’ve already seen Hell,” muttered Antonio. 

Francesco smiled falsely at him before continuing in his futile attempts. 

“You don’t seem the observant type. Why so stubborn?” 

Antonio stared at the monk. He knew the man genuinely believed he was saving him, and at least he wasn’t being threatened, but oh, did he feel uncomfortable. 

“Because I believe that God isn’t human, and a human can’t be God,” he said with conviction. 

Francesco looked taken aback. 

“But you put yourself in so much danger being a Jew. You and I both know your time is waning. Why not take the safer route?”

Antonio straightened himself, and stood up. 

“Because no one should have to practice what they don’t believe,” he said. 

“I’m truly grateful for the rescue, Brother, but I must decline your offer.”

Francesco blinked in surprise as Antonio walked out. 

“You’re always welcome here if you change your mind,” he called out.   
“No sin is too great for the forgiveness of Christ.”

Antonio sighed. He had compassion for missionaries, at least the peaceful ones, but he’d never forgive them. 

“I’m not a sinner,” he grumbled under his breath.


	10. Chapter 10

**Monday, June 20th**

Israfil took a deep breath of the salty air in Almeria. He didn’t expect Antonio to be waiting for him, after all, he was two weeks late, and he tried to remedy his guilt by telling himself that at least he could surprise him. He was giddy at the very thought of seeing Antonio’s stunned face, like he had been when he last surprised him. Israfil imagined how his brown eyes would light up, a smile beginning to form on his face. Maybe he’d get to see his endearing dimple, even.   
He could sense a soldier eyeing him suspiciously as he entered the loose borders of the Judería, but Israfil tried to ignore him. The soldiers were always looking for trouble, lurking in the streets, on the lookout for someone to apprehend. He knew he was allowed to be there, especially during the day, so he put on his most confident face, trying not to garner attention or suspicion. Eventually, though, the soldier approached him, and Israfil grimaced internally. The last thing he needed was trouble. 

“Not that I don’t oppose putting all the fish in one barrel,” the soldier said arrogantly, “but what business do you have in the Jewish quarter?”

Israfil smiled politely and gripped his bag. If he acted like he did nothing wrong, he'd hopefully be treated as such. 

“I’m a textiles merchant. A man has to sell his wares somewhere,” he replied calmly. 

“Why aren’t you at the market, then?”

“I prefer to consult my customers in person,” Israfil said, holding his chin out importantly. 

The soldier laughed. 

“I don’t think that’ll keep these people from shorthanding you,” he snickered. 

“But better your kind get swindled than a Christian.”

Israfil maintained a neutral expression, but as soon as the soldier turned his back and walked away, he clenched his fist into the fig sign and glared. With one final huff, he continued his walk, his mood slightly dampened. 

When he reached Antonio’s house, he was struck by how eerily silent it was. It was the middle of the day, so Antonio should be home, but he couldn’t hear any movement at all from within. He hoped he was just sleeping. 

“Antonio?” he called out cautiously as he walked inside the house. 

Seraph ran up to greet him, and he knelt to scratch her ears. She meowed loudly, demanding attention. 

“Hello, Seraph,” he said as she rubbed against his palm. 

“Where’s your daddy?”

Seraph blinked, and licked her paw. 

Israfil frowned, and headed towards Antonio’s room. Something very strange was going on, and he had to find him. 

“Antonio?” he whispered as he pulled aside the bedroom curtain. 

His heart sank. Antonio was on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, motionless. He fell to his knees beside him and touched his back, relieved to still feel the rise and fall of his breathing. 

“Oh, my dear,” he murmured, and pulled him close. 

He turned his head to see his face. Antonio’s cheeks were streaked with dirt and tears, and his eyes were open but unfocused, staring ahead at nothing. 

“Antonio, can you hear me?” Israfil asked fearfully. 

Antonio didn’t respond, and Israfil pressed his forehead to his. He could feel his heart break at seeing his beloved look so lost. 

**Saturday, June 25th**

“Israfil?” 

Israfil whirled around when he heard Antonio’s small voice call his name. He had been drifting in and out of sleep for the past five days since he found him, and Israfil had been keeping watch over him as best he could. In all that time, Antonio hadn’t said a word.   
He sat next to him on the bed and touched his hand. 

“Antonio, _eini_ ,” he whispered, stroking his arm. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Antonio said slowly. 

“I’m here, my love, I’m here,” Israfil told him gently.

“They said your ship sank in a storm,” Antonio mumbled quietly. 

“They said you must have drowned.”

Israfil shook his head and brought Antonio’s hand to his chest. 

“Look at me, feel my heart, Antonio,” he said, “I’m alive. I’m alive and I’m here.”

Antonio began to cry, then, and Israfil cried with him. 

“I’m here now, _eini_ , my beloved,” he said tearfully, and Antonio fell into his arms. 

He held his ear to his chest and gripped the fabric of his shirt. 

“I thought I lost my love in the sea,” Antonio sobbed. 

“I’d never forgive the ocean and the skies.”

Israfil smiled despite his tears and kissed his hand. 

“Nor would I, knowing how they’d steal your laughter,” he replied. 

Antonio surged forward and hugged him, squeezing his arms tightly around his shoulders until Israfil began to lose his balance from his embrace. 

“I’d never let go if I could,” he said as he landed on Israfil’s chest. 

“Do you believe in miracles?” he asked quietly.

“Sometimes,”

“I never did,” Antonio admitted, “but,”

He looked down at Israfil, who was gazing up at him with adoration. 

“You came back from the dead, _rohi_ , so maybe miracles can happen.”

**Friday, October 14th (Eid al-Adha)**

Antonio blushed as Israfil twirled around to show him his outfit. He was wearing a silk robe with colourful threads braided in, creating the illusion that he was shimmering, especially as the fabric swished when he moved. He looked ethereal, and Antonio felt weak. 

“What do you think?” asked Israfil. 

Antonio swallowed, trying to find the right words. 

“You look amazing,” he finally said. 

Israfil winked at him and sat next to him, knowing full well the effect he had on him. 

“Since I can’t go to the mosque this year, I thought I could still wear my best clothes indoors,” he explained. 

“It’s cruel, though, that you can’t celebrate Eid properly,” Antonio frowned.   
“I know how important it is to you.”

“Yes, well, it just isn’t safe right now,” sighed Israfil. 

“I wish things were different, but they’re not, and we all have to do what we need to do to be safe.”

“Damn Fernando and Isabella,” Antonio grumbled. 

“Don’t say that!” Israfil reproached him, swatting him on the arm. 

“I can say what I want, and I want to say that I hope they die a painful death,” Antonio shot back snarkily, crossing his arms. 

“They’re just mortal people, they’ll have what they deserve one day,” Israfil reminded him gently. 

“You wouldn’t have to worry about them if you didn’t live here,” he added. 

“No, we’re not having this conversation, Israfil,” Antonio told him firmly.

“Not now, not ever.”

He sat himself on Israfil’s lap and gripped his shoulders. 

“You’re being irresponsible,” Israfil protested, but Antonio quieted him with a kiss. 

“No more irresponsible than you associating with the likes of me,” Antonio whispered lowly. 

Israfil shook head sadly. 

“There’s no reasoning with you, is there?” he asked softly. 

“Not about this,” Antonio replied. 

“I worry about you, Antonio. I don’t want your corpse in the street or hanging from a pike.”

“Don’t talk about that, Israfil. I can’t think too hard about the future, the present is too important,” Antonio sighed. 

“And what’s in the present that’s so important?” 

“You.”

Israfil gave up, at least for the moment. He didn’t want Antonio to think he thought he was stupid. He knew Antonio was brilliant and talented. It was just that some of his decisions were misguided or stubborn. He kissed Antonio, hoping it wouldn't be their last.


	11. Chapter 11

**Wednesday, January 4th, 1492**

Antonio woke up to pounding on his door. 

“What is it?” he asked with annoyance. 

His neighbour, Terese Perez, was at his doorstep, looking deeply distressed. 

“Have you heard?” she asked desperately. 

“Heard what?”

“King Boabdil surrendered Granada!” 

Antonio gasped and covered his mouth in horror. He didn't want to believe it. 

“No,” he croaked. 

Terese nodded solemnly. 

“Simón and I are going to try and move to Portugal,” she told him. 

“Now?”

“Antonio, things are only going to get worse. We want to get out of here while we still can.”

“They can’t get _that_ bad,” Antonio lied to himself. 

“Yes they can,” Terese replied. 

“We’re leaving tonight, Antonio, and I thought I’d let you know because I want you to have my parrot, Chico,” she continued. 

Antonio remembered her parrot, that loud bastard that yelled at everyone and anyone. 

“Terese, I have a cat,” he tried to protest, hoping it would dissuade her from dumping her feathered devil-son on him. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Antonio, Chico can handle his own,” Terese assured him with a laugh.   
“I’ll be over in a few hours to drop him off.”

“What should I even feed him?” he asked in exasperation. 

“He’ll eat anything; seeds, parsnips, bread…” Terese replied.   
“You’re so good with animals, Antonio, I know you’ll take such good care of my baby.”

Antonio smiled politely. 

“Obviously I hope you eventually get a safe passage out of here, too, but you’re still young and resourceful,” Terese added with a wink. 

“Yes,” said Antonio uneasily.

**Friday night, April 21th (Pesach)**

“Antonio, it’s been so nice of you to join us for Seder this year,” Rabbi Sarfati said warmly after everyone had gone to sleep.

Antonio nodded, and looked down guiltily. Rabbi Sarfati had been trying to convince him to join his family for various holidays for years, but Antonio always found an excuse not to attend. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the Rabbi, he had always been nice to him, but he never felt like he belonged in the congregation. Besides, he secretly suspected that Sarfati wanted him to court his daughter, which he wasn’t offended by, but he was definitely uncomfortable with the prospect. 

“I thought it’s best I spend time with my people in these uncertain times,” Antonio said quietly. 

“Yes. The best we can do now is remember our roots,” Sarfati agreed. 

“I’ll admit I haven’t had a real conversation with you since your Bar Mitzvah, Antonio. How have you been doing?” he asked. 

“I’ve been alright,” Antonio replied. 

“Yeah? How’s your Muslim friend? Does he make you happy?”

Antonio blushed. He had not expected that question, certainly not from the Rabbi. 

“How do you know about him?” he mumbled. 

“Antonio, Antonio, word gets around here quickly in this town,” Sarfati chuckled, “I know we’re not supposed to gossip, but I can’t help but overhear things.”

“What do you- what did you hear?” stammered Antonio. 

“Antonio,” said Sarfati seriously, “I don’t judge you for what relationships you have. You are a good person, and that’s what’s important.”

Antonio swallowed, and twisted his fingers on his lap. 

“His name is Israfil,” he began slowly. 

“Ah. _Mala’ach Raphael_ ,” murmured Sarfati with approval. 

“He makes me happy, Rabbi, happier than I’ve been in a long time,” Antonio continued, feeling warmth in his heart as he spoke about Israfil.   
“He’s kind, and sensitive, and witty, and I know he cares about me.”

“That’s good. He sounds like a good man,” said Sarfati. 

“You’re not disappointed in me?” Antonio asked nervously. 

“I’ll admit I was worried about the path you might take, but I can see now that you’re a good man- good in your faith, and good in your place in the world. I know now that you would never be happy with a woman, you’d grow miserable and bitter. But you have grown into a wonderful human being, and I’m proud of you,” Sarfati answered. 

Antonio let out a small breath of relief, and allowed his posture to relax a bit. 

There was a quiet knock at the door, and both Sarfati and Antonio stood up in alarm.

“Who is it?” asked Sarfati. 

It was past midnight, so no one should be around that late, certainly not during the curfew. 

“I’m a friend. Please let me in,” whispered a voice from the other side of the door.

Sarfati and Antonio looked at each other uneasily. 

“Please, Rabbi, it’s important.”

Gingerly, Sarfati opened the door, and a scrawny young man hurried inside. 

“Thank you,” the man said quickly, looking around nervously. 

“Who are you?” asked Antonio, narrowing his eyes. 

“Nicolas,” the man said breathlessly.   
“My mother is Jewish but my father is Christian. I need to tell the Rabbi something important.”

Sarfati stepped forward. 

“What is it?” he asked softly. 

Nicolas shifted on his feet. 

“My uncle, Tomas, is in the Inquisition, and I help him with his documents. Please, Rabbi, I don’t want to harm anyone, I swear. If anyone finds out I came here, I’m a dead man,” he rambled. 

“You’re safe, Nicolas,” said Sarfati gently, “but please, what is so important that you risked your life coming here?”

“I help him with his documents, and there’s news from Castille-”

“The king and queen?”

Nicolas nodded. 

“It’s called the Alhambra Decree,” he said gravely.   
“They’re expelling all Jews from Castille and Aragon, and all its territories. It’s supposed to be a secret until May, but I wanted to give you an early warning.”

“ _Hashem Yishmor_ ,” gasped Sarfati, shaking his head in horror. 

“How long do we have to-” Antonio choked on his words, “to leave?”

“By July,” said Nicolas quietly. 

“ _July_? We can’t possibly sort out our assets by then,” Sarfati exclaimed. 

“You won’t be able to. You’ll only be able to take physical possessions, not money.”

Nicolas looked down in shame, somehow feeling responsible. 

“They promised they’d protect us,” Antonio cried, clenching his fists. 

“We’re never truly safe, Antonio,” Sarfati told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” said Nicolas, “I wish I could do more.”

“It’s alright, Nicolas. You’ve done more than enough. Thanks to you I’ll be able to prepare the community before there’s an uproar,” Sarfati assured him. 

“I have to go,” mumbled Nicolas sadly.   
“Enjoy your holiday, Rabbi.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Friday, May 3rd, Constantinople**

Israfil sat, bored, as he went over finances with his cousins, Jabril and Mikhail. He got along well enough with them, as well as business partners would, but they weren’t exactly the affectionate type. He was itching to see Antonio, to travel again, anything but sit, getting pins and needles in his thighs, as Jabril droned on.   
Jabril’s son walked in, and Israfil thought he’d finally have a needed respite from the boredom. 

“Baba,” the boy said quietly, and Jabril looked up. 

“What is it?” he asked impatiently, tapping his quil on the table. 

“There’s news from Andalusa,” his son informed him, and Israfil straightened up. 

He felt a horrible feeling in his gut, and his fears were only confirmed when the boy continued. 

“All Jews and Muslims are to be expelled by the end of July in all of Castille and Aragon, and all the territories and kingdoms of the Catholic crown.”

Israfil felt himself about to vomit, and took a quick gulp of his tea. 

“Are you alright?” asked Mikhail. 

Israfil nodded, feeling nauseous. 

“Indigestion,” he finally mumbled. 

“Well,” said Jabril tactlessly, “ _this_ is good news.”

“Good news?!” exclaimed Israfi, wringing his hands. 

“How is this good news, Jabril?! Ant- people are going to die, _our_ people.”

“Nobody will die if they leave as they're supposed to do,” Jabril replied calmly. 

“They’ll all come here, which is excellent for the economy,” Mikhail added. 

“But they’re losing their homes. They’re losing everything they knew,” cried Israfil. 

“That’s what happens, unfortunately,” shrugged Jabril, “we all knew this would happen eventually.”

Israfil took a deep breath. His heart was racing, and he knew he would say something he’d regret if he didn’t get out of there. 

“I’m going for a walk,” he said quickly. 

His fists clenched, and his eyes burned with tears. He stormed out. 

**Sunday, May 27th, Almeria**

The city was in a panic. Soldiers milled about to keep the peace, and the citizens lived in fear. Israfil had to get to Antonio. He didn’t care what excuse he would say, he’d drag him out of Spain if he had too. Antonio would forgive him eventually. Hopefully. He’d rather Antonio hate him for the rest of his life than be dead. 

“Come to gloat?” Antonio seethed when Israfil let himself in. 

Antonio was standing in the corner, almost as if he was expecting him. It was dark and shadowy, as if the gloom settled into the walls themselves. Israfil sighed. 

“I’m not going to fight with you, Antonio. I know you’re going through a lot,” he said gently. 

Antonio turned away, and stroked Chico’s feather. His pride was bruised, he was humiliated, and he couldn’t bear to look at Israfil. 

“You know what I’m going to say,” began Israfil, holding out his arm. 

Antonio stepped back, and hunched in on himself. 

“I can’t,” he sobbed. 

“I can’t leave. I can’t-”

“You have to, Antonio. You have to,” Israfil pleaded. 

“Why do you care so much, Israfil?” demanded Antonio, wiping away tears.

“Why do you care about what I do?” 

He looked down at Seraph, who had walked in with a field mouse in her mouth.

“I’m not some- some street-cat you can save and make your trophy pet,” he said ruefully. 

“Street cat?! Trophy?! What do you think you are to me?!” repeated Israfil, his voice rising. 

He told himself he wouldn’t let his temper get the better of him, no matter what Antonio said, but he couldn’t help it. The accusation that his feelings for Antonio weren’t sincere- it was too much to bear. 

“Antonio, I love you!” he shouted, falling to his knees before him. 

“You treat your life like it’s worthless, but you have no idea. It’s worth everything to me. You’re the lost half of my soul, my companion, and partner, and equal. I care about you, Antonio, because I want to have a union with you stronger than the first to walk in paradise.”

Antonio began to tremble, and tears fell down his face. He had been blind- blind to the world, and blind to Israfil’s love. He had been ignoring everything in his life, purposefully turning away. He was terrified. 

“I’m sorry,” he cried, feeling himself fall apart. 

Israfil stood up as Antonio began to fall, and held him close. Antonio leaned his head on his shoulder, years of anguish taking their toll. 

“It’s alright, _eini_. Let yourself cry,” Israfil whispered, rubbing circles on his back. 

“I’m scared,” he sobbed. 

“I know, I know,” Israfil murmured. 

“All I’ve ever known is here, whether it’s good or bad. It may be terrible here, but I’m used to it. I don’t want to...I don’t want to go somewhere I don’t know,” Antonio continued. 

“I’ll be with you, Antonio. You won’t be alone, I promise,” Israfil assured him.

“I’ve been stupid,” he wailed guiltily. 

“I’ve been stupid and unfair to you. You’ve been trying to help me and I’ve been stubborn and foolish.”

“You’ve been frustrating, Antonio,” Israfil admitted, “but I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you at all.”

“Where am I going to go?” asked Antonio sadly. 

“The Sultan sent the Navy to pick up the refugees and bring them to Turkey and find them homes,” Israfil replied gently. 

“You can come home with me.”

“Where would I live?”

“With me, you daft thing,” Israfil laughed fondly. 

Antonio looked up and finally smiled. 

“You don’t want to live with me. I’m annoying,” he said, trying to deflect the tension. 

“So am I. We can be annoying together.”

“I’m bringing Seraph with me,” Antonio added. 

“Good. She can make sure there’s no rats on my ship,” Israfil grinned. 

“Chico will also have to come. I promised Terese I’d take care of him.”

Israfil glanced at the bird, who was watching them silently. As soon as Israfil tried to pet him, he shrieked. 

“You’ll have to be in charge of feeding him, though,” he said, “I don’t think he likes me.”

“He doesn’t like anyone,” shrugged Antonio. 

“But seriously, Antonio, not only would I not mind sharing a home with you, but I would be overjoyed. I love you, and I want to share my life with you,” Israfil said softly. 

“So do I. I’m just...scared and confused and angry,” Antonio replied, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“And you have a right to be. You have a right to be feeling this way, _eini_ , just know that you don’t have to go through this alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and an epilogue to go...


	13. Chapter 13

**Sunday, June 3rd, Somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea**

_  
His head was throbbing. He could hear murmuring and footsteps, different voices he recognized._

_“Is he alive?” someone asked._

_“Barely. Looks like he was attacked by those brutes.”_

_“That’s Carmeli’s son, isn’t he?”_

_“Yes, poor thing.”_

_“I called the doctor, but I’m not sure what he can even do.”_

_“Something needs to be done about the blood.”_

_Someone was holding his head, putting pressure on his scalp. He tasted iron.  
_

_  
He opened his eyes slowly. His head hurt, and the room seemed to be spinning. He could vaguely make out the figure of an older man by his bedside, engrossed in desperate prayer._

_“Avram,” the man sighed, seeing him awake._

_“Go back to sleep, b’ni, you need to let your body heal.”_

_The man touched his shoulder, and gently pushed him back onto the pillow._

_“Sleep now,” he said softly.  
_

_  
He and Israfil were in the old bathhouse. It had been forcibly closed years before, and the corridors were now eerily empty and silent. The pools, which had once been filled with warm, clean water, were drained, and the only signs of life were the spiders that made their homes in the many corners and crannies of the once beautiful room._

_“I used to come here,” Israfil whispered as he looked around._

_“So did I,” Antonio said, “we could have seen each other once and not known it.”_

_Israfil chuckled._

_“Did you ever...take any lovers?” he suddenly asked hesitantly._

_Antonio bit his lip._

_“Lovers...no. I’ve slept with men before, but never felt so intensely for them as I do for you,” he replied._

_“I did, too,” Israfil admitted._

_They looked at each other shyly, though they had no reason to be._

_“Out of all other men, what made you choose me?” Antonio asked._

_Israfil thought for a moment._

_“Well, you’re smart, and passionate, and funny-”_

_“Am I attractive?” Antonio interrupted._

_Israfil laughed at the question, before he realized Antonio was serious. He held his hand and cupped his cheek sincerely._

_“Of course you’re attractive,” he said gently._

_“What makes you think you’re not?”_

_“Well, no one has ever called me unattractive, but I’ve been told there’s nothing….special about me,” Antonio mumbled._

_“Well, anyone who has said that is wrong. You have the most unique eyes, they look golden when the light hits them. Your smile is brighter than the sun, and your hands are deft and fast and can create. That’s incredible to me, Antonio, and you’re beautiful,” Israfil told him sweetly._

_“I wish I found you earlier, Israfil,” smiled Antonio, “you make me feel important.”_

_“You are important, eini, to me,” Israfil murmured.  
_

“Antonio,” sang Israfil, rousing him from his sleep. 

He smiled, and looked up at his partner. Israfil was in his element on the water, and seemed to glow. Ever the early riser, he had probably been awake for hours before he decided to wake him. 

“How is everything going?” Antonio asked. 

“Alright. Weather looks clear, and it looks like we’ll reach land in a few days,” Israfil answered. 

“Come on,” he coaxed, trying to pull Antonio out of bed, “I want to show you something.”

“What is it?” 

“It’s a surprise, _eini_ , but you have to hurry.”

Israfil handed Antonio his sunglasses and kissed his cheek. 

“Will I like it?” Antonio wondered. 

“Yeah, but if you don’t hurry, you’ll miss it,” Israfil laughed, pulling Antonio to his feet. 

They climbed up to the deck, and Israfil was careful to make sure Antonio was in the shade of the sails. Crewmen and passengers were crowded at the railing, pointing at something in the water. 

“What’s going on?” asked Antonio as Israfil ushered him to the side of the ship. 

“Look,” Israfil grinned. 

Antonio looked down and nearly squealed. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the smooth skin of a massive fin.

“A whale!” he exclaimed in awe. 

“It’s huge!”

The whale was almost as long as the ship, and was swimming along the side. She didn’t seem aggressive, not like some stories Antonio heard from aged sailors. He never really believed them, anyway. 

“She’s just a young one, and they’re a bit more curious and friendly,” Israfil explained as the whale flipped and sprayed water from her blowhole. 

“I’ve never seen a whale before,” Antonio said in wonder as his eyes followed the whale’s every movement. 

“She’s so graceful,” he murmured. 

He turned to Israfil. 

“Thank you,” he said, and gave him a hug. 

“I didn’t summon the whale,” Israfil chuckled, “but you’re welcome anyway.”

Antonio shook his head and looked around at the other people on deck. They were his neighbours and friends, people he used to see walking in the streets back in Almeria. Some of the older members of the group were wearing mourning garments, having donned them after hearing of the decree. All of them had had to leave their homes, where they had been for generations, where their families had been buried. But, in the midst of their sorrow, they were able to smile and laugh at seeing such a magnificent beast. He knew Israfil didn’t summon the whale, but he gave all these people a chance to be happy again. 

“I meant for everything,” Antonio said wistfully, “thank you for everything.”

Israfil bowed his head and smiled at him. 

“You’re welcome, _eini_ , but you don’t need to thank me,” he replied. 

“But I’m indebted to you,” protested Antonio. 

“You owe me nothing, my love. I am as indebted to you as you are to me,” Israfil insisted.

Antonio sighed contentedly, and tilted his chin up to kiss Israfil. 

Just as their lips were about to meet, however, they were hit with a wave from the whale’s fin hitting the water. They were soaked with cold, briny water, and for a few minutes they stood there in shock. 

“Well,” Israfil finally laughed, shaking his drenched hair. 

“N-not f-f-funny!” sputtered Antonio through chattering teeth. 

“‘M c-c-cold and sm-smelly.”

Israfil patted his shoulder comfortingly and swept his hair out of eyes. 

“Not everyone is suited to be a seamen,” he teased. 

Antonio glared at him, but without any malice. 

“Come on, _albi_ ,” he whispered with a wink.

“Let’s get you into some dry clothes.”


	14. Epilogue

**Saturday, December 14th, 1493, Constantinople**

“Antonio!” called Israfil cheerfully from the bottom of the stairs.

“Antonio! Antonio!” repeated Chico in his loud, scratchy voice. 

Seraph stirred from her slumber at Antonio's feet. 

“Ngh, what is it?” Antonio yawned, barely getting out of bed. 

Israfil walked into their bedroom, smiling brightly. 

“‘S so early, Israfil, and on my day of rest?” Antonio teased. 

Israfil plopped himself onto their bed and planted a kiss on Antonio’s cheek. 

“News from the market,” he said happily. 

“You know the Nahmias brothers?”

“The ones who’re trying to open a printing press?” asked Antonio. 

Israfil nodded. 

“Yep. Well, guess what happened on Friday.”

Israfil waited for Antonio to guess, and looked just about ready to burst from excitement. 

“Well, tell me,” Antonio prodded. 

“They just finished printing their first book!” Israfil exclaimed. 

“Yeah...and?”

“Antonio, it’s the first book ever printed in the entire Ottoman empire,” Israfil said seriously, “this is a really important moment.”

“But..you _have_ books,” Antonio insisted, not seeing the big fuss. 

Personally he preferred handwritten, ornate books, but he knew Israfil was fascinated with the emerging technology of the printing press. 

Israfil laughed. 

“Yes, but they weren’t printed here. I got them from other places,” he explained patiently. 

“So what do you think will come of it?” Antonio asked.

“Well, if it gets adopted around the empire, books will be more accessible and cheaper, allowing more people to be educated,” Israfil replied. 

“Maybe you could even print books for your students at the _madrassa_.”

Antonio tapped his chin thoughtfully. 

“That _would_ be helpful,” he nodded, “but someone will need to figure out a way to print intricate diagrams and drawings.”

“All in good time,” chuckled Israfil, “all in good time.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is **not** an attack on Christians. There are good and bad people in all religions, but in the context of the Spanish Inquisition and history, many actively oppressed and hurt Jewish and Muslim people, or were complicit in the persecution.


End file.
